


That Would be Enough

by ollypopp



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Nudity, Reader-Insert, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:14:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25118221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ollypopp/pseuds/ollypopp
Summary: A heavy loss leaves you feeling empty, just going through the motions and barely looking after yourself. All Poe can do is help carry some of the weight. Originally posted on tumblr.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Reader, Poe Dameron/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 35





	That Would be Enough

**Author's Note:**

> This idea stemmed from the Poes Hoes discord chat, discussing Poe helping a reader take care of themselves after they let self-care and hygiene fall to the wayside because of depression. This is just a little reminder to anyone else going through it right now that you are loved and deserve care. I can’t come and ACTUALLY care for you, but I can give you this so you can get a little escape.

The base was constantly alive with energy. People were always running to and fro, someone was constantly asking you a question or wanting your input on a mission plan. In a way, it was comforting for you, especially after a heavy loss of some of your comrades. There was work to be done, always. Something to throw yourself into. 

But sometimes the weight of it all got a little too heavy. A diplomatic envoy had been destroyed seconds before it hit lightspeed -- mere seconds away from safety -- and you had been the communications officer that was on the line to hear it all.

You had taken a moment to cry in a dark corner of the base, and no one said anything if they saw you because everyone in the Resistance had done it at least once. But then you dried your tears. The only evidence left afterwards was your slightly runny nose and puffy eyes as you got back to it and began charting courses for other missions.

The first week after was okay, you just worked until your eyes stung from staring at a screen for too long and then crashed on your stiff bed. But it got a little harder every day. Waking up to go back out there and give your very best when you know it might not ever be enough to make a difference. 

The tiredness seemed to go beyond staying up late, it was something very deep in you that never seemed to be satiated. A constant heaviness in your limbs.

You moved on autopilot for the next couple weeks. Everyday passed the same way: climbing out of bed, eating a ration bar if you felt wobbly on your feet, going to work until you were dismissed and then falling onto your bed in a heap. 

To be somewhat presentable you cycled through the handful of uniforms you owned that were littering the floor of your already meagre quarters. They were all dirty, you were in desperate need of a laundry day, but that extra work seemed absolutely impossible to you. The extra clutter had begun crowding your room along with discarded underthings, empty cups, and ration bar wrappers. There was no desire to tidy up, and certainly no inclination to get into the sonisteam to wash your hair that had been messily pulled back day after day just to get it out of your face. 

Some of your friends on base kept asking if you were okay in a soft, pitying voice and it always made a lump form in your throat. You kept stubbornly swallowing it down and nodding before going wherever you were needed. There was work to be done, and it was the only thing that kept you from laying bed and staring at the ceiling while you contemplated over and over again the odds that were against you... Or while you lingered on every wrong move you had ever made during your time in the Resistance. 

When the Black Squadron signaled that they were due back at any moment from a long mission, the entire base rippled with activity. The hangar needed to be prepped, mechanics wanted an early start on gathering parts for repairs and medics were on standby in case someone showed up injured. 

You should have been so excited about that; it meant Poe was coming home, and you were happy to know he was safe. It just got drowned out a little by the looming feeling that everything you both were working so hard for could be for nothing. 

He didn’t need all of that doom and gloom, not after being gone for so long and probably risking his life. So you holed up in your quarters. It was a day off for you and you normally would spend it socializing or catching up on your own personal projects but you were in bed. 

It was dark in your quarters, and you kept drifting in and out of sleep. Maybe after a day of interrupted rest you could try and go back to the way things were. Just as you were drifting off again the telltale hiss of your door sliding open made you lift yourself up in bed. 

Light leaked into the room, illuminating what a terrible mess it was and you probably didn’t look much better. He was hard to make out since the light hit him from behind, and your eyes were still adjusting to the intruding light but you’d know Poe Dameron anywhere. He was stopped in your doorway, his flight suit a familiar silhouette and you saw his head move slightly as he tried to make out where you were in the darkness.

You were immediately ashamed of how you had been living for the past month. Maybe you shouldn’t have given him unfettered access to your quarters. 

“Welcome back,” you said gently. 

“There you are,” he said and you could hear how tired he was in his voice, “did I wake you?”

“Not really. Been drifting in and out.” 

“Can I turn the lights on?”

“Sure.” 

You wanted to say no, but you didn’t have a good excuse and it was already very hard for you to say no to Poe. Even if a little part of you was hoping he would just leave so he wouldn’t see you this way. The lights clicked on, unforgiving and bright, and you winced against them until your eyes adjusted. His eyes roamed around the room before landing on you, huddled up in your covers and purposely not looking at him. 

“Sorry it’s a mess in here.” You offered meekly, “been...busy.”

“That’s okay,” he shrugged, “I don’t mind it. Can I come sit with you?”

You nodded and then immediately cringed as he tiptoed around the room, careful not to step on any of your stuff but having to map out a path through the mess. When he finally got to the bed he gave a little huff when he sat down next to you. His hand came out to rub your back through the blankets and you put a hand on his thigh. 

“How did the mission go?” You asked.

“Fine, just so fucking long,” he drew the last word out. “Couldn’t wait to get back. Sleeping without you sucks.”

You smiled a little bit, and it was the first one you’ve managed in a while. “You sound tired, do you want to rest?”

“It’s the middle of the day, sweetheart,” he said without judgement but you could tell he was suggesting something. “What’s going on?”

You just shook your head, not sure if you were ready to talk about it. Not sure if you wanted to dump all of that in his lap after he just got home. 

“I’m just tired,” you said with a weak smile.

His hand trailed into your hair, and you immediately wished he wouldn’t touch it. Poe played with it for a little bit, and didn’t say anything. You probably stank, your hair was probably as matted as a porg nest, and while you didn’t seem to care before, you were now hyper aware of it all. 

“Let’s hop in the sonisteam,” he said gently.

He had been gone for three weeks, and normally you were in the hangar to greet him after a mission. Normally the two of you would have barely kept your hands off of each other in debriefings. Counting down the seconds until you could be alone and make up for lost time in the bedroom. 

But you felt gross, you were tired and you still had an unshakeable sense of impending doom. Not exactly the kind of feelings that made you frisky. You could probably pretend to be into it so he could get his release and relax but that felt wrong too.

“Poe,” you sighed, “I’m so happy to see you, I am, but I’m just not in the mood for sex right now.” 

“I’m not talking about sex, baby,” Poe got up from the bed, holding a hand out to you. 

You considered him for a moment, but his gentle smile and the way his eyes shone with concern convinced you. Shrugging off the blankets, you took his hand and let him lead you towards the refresher. It was close quarters in there, but it beat having to use a communal facility. He got out of his flight suit with ease, and you should be admiring how gorgeous he was as he revealed more skin but you could only find the drive to lift the dirty tunic you were wearing over your head. He started the sonisteam up, before removing his underwear and grabbing your arm to help you keep balance as you pulled your own down your legs. 

Once it was warm enough he stepped in and you followed him, both of you trying your best to share the less-than-ideal water pressure. It did feel nice, and having him with you always put your soul a little more at ease. It didn’t take away the feelings you were battling with, but it made it a little easier to deal with. He grabbed some shampoo and lathered it in his hands, 

“C’mere.” 

You frowned in confusion at him.

“I’ll behave, I swear,” he insisted with a smile. 

You stepped a little closer and couldn’t help but smile back at him a little. His smile was infectious to say the least. 

“Turn around.”

You did as he asked, and immediately his hands were massaging the shampoo into your wet hair. It felt amazing. His fingers dragged over your scalp in soothing circular motions, and the smell of the shampoo was floral and uplifting. A gift from him, something he brought back from a mission for you, so you didn’t have to use the stringent smelling Resistance issued soaps. He massaged your scalp for a while and you leaned back into his chest, your shoulders releasing some tension you had not realized you were holding. 

“Tell me about the mission,” you said softly. 

You just wanted to hear his voice, if you were being honest with yourself. He was back in one piece and he hadn’t stormed in ranting, so you already assumed it went well. But the only thing that could add to the soothing way he lathered your hair was listening to him talk for a little while.

“I think Snap and Kare are fighting,” he said. “They were...off the whole time.”

You hummed as he gently tipped your head under the spray of water, running his hands through your hair gently as he rinsed the suds out of it. “Are you gonna talk to them?”

“I don’t want to,” he admits, “they’re the best, and I know they can handle themselves. We were out for so long. That’s probably what got to them.” 

He pulled you out of the spray, moving on to the conditioner. You noticed he lathered more on than you normally would. Focusing on a spot at the back of your head where you knew your hair was matted from laying on it for so many nights without bothering to brush it. 

“That’s the trouble with romances on base.”

“Yeah,” he conceded at first, then immediately added, “but if you find someone and they understand, really understand, what you go through everyday... you don’t want to let it go. I don’t want to take that from them.”

He’s right, and that’s why superior officers don’t say anything about people seeing each other on base. It’s why the two of you are even allowed to be together even though he technically outranks you. 

As long as everyone keeps their priorities straight, the C.O.’s turn the other cheek. Living with a constant fear of losing everything made it hard to connect with civilians sometimes, and everyone in the Resistance was holding on to what they could. 

He let the conditioner sit in your hair while he washed his own and you watched him thoughtfully. Maybe he could understand that you were just overwhelmed with the feelings of dread. That’s what you were afraid of, what if he couldn’t understand why you let yourself shut down, why it got so hard to keep on like nothing had happened. What if he was just disappointed in you?

“It went well, otherwise?” You asked him, wanting to hear more to distract yourself from a dark train of thoughts.

“Mostly a dead end,” he admitted, “but I came back with as many pilots as I left with, so I’ll count it as a win.”

You smiled genuinely at that. He was so full of hope all the time, even when things went to hell he just rolled with the punches. It made you a little ashamed of your own reactions to things, you tried so hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel, but sometimes you couldn’t hold onto the optimism. 

“How do you do that?” You ask gently as he starts lathering your body with soap. 

“Do what?” 

“How do you always find a silver lining,” your tone was pleading. You were asking as if he had some secret to not feeling like this, like he could just take it all away with a simple phrase.

He paused, his hands on your upper arms as he looked at you. There was a small frown wrinkling his forehead just slightly, his soulful eyes full of concern. It made you look away from him, ashamed again at how horribly you felt you were handling things. 

“It’s not easy,” he admitted, starting to lift your arms so he could make sure he got every spot on you. “The Black Squadron is the best, couldn’t ask for a better team, but I’m their leader. They look to me and if I can’t find a reason to keep going...why should they?” He hesitated as he kneeled, running his soapy hands over your legs and massaging gently at your calves. “You wanna know a secret?” 

“Sure.” You were moments away from crying, but maybe if he just kept talking you could calm yourself down. 

“Sometimes I’m faking it.” 

“What?” You sputtered, looking down at him.

“It’s true, I do,” he gave you a little smile. “There are days where it just feels like…” He trailed off then. 

“Like it’s hopeless.”

“Yeah,” he nodded a little, biting his lip and smiling at you. “But it’s not. I promise it’s not.” 

“I lost the diplomatic envoy,” you finally admitted to him. “They were just about to make it out of there and then --” you cut yourself off, shaking your head and looking at the ceiling as tears gathered in your eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Poe stood up again, wrapping you up in his arms. “It’s not your fault.” 

“I know,” you cried, “I know that. But they were so close... they were so close to making it home.”

He just held you there for a little bit, the water was starting to lose heat but neither of you said anything about it. Poe finished rinsing your hair, speed washing himself and then hopping out. You turned off the water, taking his offered out hand.

Immediately he began drying you off, the material of the towel was just a little rough like most other amenities the Resistance had to offer, but when he got to your hair and gently towel dried it you didn’t care. It mussed up your hair so that when he pulled the towel away it was just as much of a mess as before. But it felt good to be clean and cared for. 

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, wiping your face as tears spilled over your cheeks. “You just got back -- you shouldn’t have to --”

“Hey,” Poe interrupted, wrapping the towel around you, “don’t worry about it, okay? I’m fine, it was an easy mission. You obviously need this right now.”

“But I --”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” Poe interjected again, this time a little firmer. “I can’t make the feelings go away, but I can hold your hand while you figure it out, okay? Will you let me do that?” 

You nod your head a little bit and he smiled at you, leaning in to kiss your forehead and lingering there for a little while. There was the distinct sound of him taking a deep breath in, and in a better state of mind you might tease him for smelling you, but you know he misses you when he’s gone. You know the first thing he wants to do is to wrap himself around you and let all that familiarity flood his senses.

It’s a confirmation that he came back, that he got to take you in his arms again. It’s not always promised, and you both know that. 

Neither of you get dressed after drying off, navigating your messy room as he led you towards your bed. When he sat you down on the bed, he asked, “you got a brush?” 

“In the ‘fresher.”

He muttered about how he should have known that and disappeared again for a moment. When he came back he settled behind you on the bed, pulling back your hair before gently running the brush through it. For a while it was fine, the brush glided through your hair and scratched softly enough at your scalp that it felt soothing. Until he hit the mess of knots on the back of your head. Gently he pulled through them, asking if he was hurting you everytime it snagged, but not giving up on sorting through them. 

“You really gotta let us help you when it gets to be too much,” he murmured behind you. 

He was talking about your friends on base and your superior officers who had been shooting you worried looks for days now. The Resistance’s strength is in the respect everyone has for one another. The First Order outnumber the Resistance, but they only achieve those numbers by stealing and brainwashing innocent kids. Everyone on your side is there because they want to be. You are all supposed to look out for each other.

“I should be able to handle it better.” You responded quietly. “Sometimes I just feel like we’re running into walls, over and over again, and expecting it to be different.” 

“It will be,” he promised, “something’s gotta give at some point. We just...do our best until then.”

“My best is far from enough,” you snorted.

“Hey,” Poe reprimanded gently, “don’t say that. I mean it. It’s not true.”

You have nothing nice to say about yourself at the moment, and he won’t hear any of it, so you choose to stay quiet. After a while Poe made some progress with your hair, the brush going through the wet strands with much less trouble. There was one he was a little worried he might have to cut out of your hair, but he was determined not to have to do that. Thankfully, it gave way and he got the brush smoothly through your hair a few times before calling it a success.

“There you go,” Poe said, “beautiful as ever.” 

You snorted at the compliment. 

“Have you eaten?”

“A ration bar.”

“How long ago?”

You bit your lip, not ready to receive a scolding about a real answer. You couldn't even remember when you ate last. “A while ago,” you responded with a wince.

He looked at you, smart enough to know why you were being vague. He gave a short sigh, and a fond smile. “I’m gonna go get us some food, and then we’re gonna lay in bed together the rest of the day. Sound good?”

“Copy that, Black Leader.”

Poe tried to roll his eyes at your response, but he was smiling a little bigger now that your sense of humor seemed to peek through. He threw on what few clothes he had stashed away in your quarters before venturing out again. This time when you laid back in bed the weight on your shoulders seemed a little lighter. 

You were clean, and somehow sitting with him made some of the more ugly thoughts quiet down a little bit. Poe was right. He couldn’t fix whatever it was that was lingering over your head like a dark cloud, but he could bring a little sunshine into the mix to help lighten you up.

That was more than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want info about WIPs, to make requests, or just to join in on the shenanigans follow me at ollypopp.tumblr.com.


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